Chapter 31

by Jack London

　　Chapter XXXI

　　"It will smell," I said, "but it will keep in the heat and keep outthe rain and snow."

　　We were surveying the completed seal-skin roof.

　　"It is clumsy, but it will serve the purpose, and that is the mainthing," I went on, yearning for her praise.

　　And she clapped her hands and declared that she was hugely pleased.

　　"But it is dark in here," she said the next moment, her shouldersshrinking with a little involuntary shiver.

　　"You might have suggested a window when the walls were going up," Isaid. "It was for you, and you should have seen the need of awindow."

　　"But I never do see the obvious, you know," she laughed back. "Andbesides, you can knock a hole in the wall at any time.'

　　"Quite true; I had not thought of it," I replied, wagging my headsagely. "But have you thought of ordering the window-glass? Justcall up the firm, - Red, 4451, I think it is, - and tell them whatsize and kind of glass you wish."

　　"That means - " she began.

　　"No window."

　　It was a dark and evil-appearing thing, that hut, not fit for aughtbetter than swine in a civilized land; but for us, who had knownthe misery of the open boat, it was a snug little habitation.Following the housewarming, which was accomplished by means ofseal-oil and a wick made from cotton calking, came the hunting forour winter's meat and the building of the second hut. It was asimple affair, now, to go forth in the morning and return by noonwith a boatload of seals. And then, while I worked at building thehut, Maud tried out the oil from the blubber and kept a slow fireunder the frames of meat. I had heard of jerking beef on theplains, and our seal-meat, cut in thin strips and hung in thesmoke, cured excellently.

　　The second hut was easier to erect, for I built it against thefirst, and only three walls were required. But it was work, hardwork, all of it. Maud and I worked from dawn till dark, to thelimit of our strength, so that when night came we crawled stifflyto bed and slept the animal-like sleep exhaustion. And yet Mauddeclared that she had never felt better or stronger in her life. Iknew this was true of myself, but hers was such a lily strengththat I feared she would break down. Often and often, her last-reserve force gone, I have seen her stretched flat on her back onthe sand in the way she had of resting and recuperating. And thenshe would be up on her feet and toiling hard as ever. Where sheobtained this strength was the marvel to me.

　　"Think of the long rest this winter," was her reply to myremonstrances. "Why, we'll be clamorous for something to do."

　　We held a housewarming in my hut the night it was roofed. It wasthe end of the third day of a fierce storm which had swung aroundthe compass from the south-east to the north-west, and which wasthen blowing directly in upon us. The beaches of the outer covewere thundering with the surf, and even in our land-locked innercove a respectable sea was breaking. No high backbone of islandsheltered us from the wind, and it whistled and bellowed about thehut till at times I feared for the strength of the walls. The skinroof, stretched tightly as a drumhead, I had thought, sagged andbellied with every gust; and innumerable interstices in the walls,not so tightly stuffed with moss as Maud had supposed, disclosedthemselves. Yet the seal-oil burned brightly and we were warm andcomfortable.

　　It was a pleasant evening indeed, and we voted that as a socialfunction on Endeavour Island it had not yet been eclipsed. Ourminds were at ease. Not only had we resigned ourselves to thebitter winter, but we were prepared for it. The seals could departon their mysterious journey into the south at any time, now, forall we cared; and the storms held no terror for us. Not only werewe sure of being dry and warm and sheltered from the wind, but wehad the softest and most luxurious mattresses that could be madefrom moss. This had been Maud's idea, and she had herselfjealously gathered all the moss. This was to be my first night onthe mattress, and I knew I should sleep the sweeter because she hadmade it.

　　As she rose to go she turned to me with the whimsical way she had,and said:

　　"Something is going to happen - is happening, for that matter. Ifeel it. Something is coming here, to us. It is coming now. Idon't know what, but it is coming."

　　"Good or bad?" I asked.

　　She shook her head. "I don't know, but it is there, somewhere."

　　She pointed in the direction of the sea and wind.

　　"It's a lee shore," I laughed, "and I am sure I'd rather be herethan arriving, a night like this."

　　"You are not frightened?" I asked, as I stepped to open the doorfor her.

　　Her eyes looked bravely into mine.

　　"And you feel well? perfectly well?"

　　"Never better," was her answer.

　　We talked a little longer before she went.

　　"Good-night, Maud," I said.

　　"Good-night, Humphrey," she said.

　　This use of our given names had come about quite as a matter ofcourse, and was as unpremeditated as it was natural. In thatmoment I could have put my arms around her and drawn her to me. Ishould certainly have done so out in that world to which webelonged. As it was, the situation stopped there in the only wayit could; but I was left alone in my little but, glowing warmlythrough and through with a pleasant satisfaction; and I knew that atie, or a tacit something, existed between us which had not existedbefore.